Invictus Maneo
by highland laurel
Summary: Daniel and Mingo must deal with a troubled group of reivers who demand tribute in order for travelers to pass through the Cumberland Gap
1. Chapter 1

The characters used in this story are from the television show Daniel Boone and belong to 20th Century Fox, not me. Any you don't recognize belong to the author.

Invictus Maneo

_Freedom all solace to man gives_

_He lives at ease that freely lives._

_John Barbour, Scottish Poet_

Chapter 1

A pair of sea blue eyes looked down at the tall figure walking easily on the trail below. Turning to the man beside him, Ross Armstrong nodded. "That's him, I'm sure. That's Boone's Cherokee. Calls hisself Mingo, but he's really Edmund Murray. Ol' Dunsmore's boy."

Dallas squinted his eyes to better view the figure striding on the trail that wound through the Gap. The air was close and hot as the Indian pushed his way through the brush lining the trail. Carefully the reiver balanced his long rifle on the exposed limestone and took aim on the target.

"No, you fool! Daddy don't want him dead, he wants him caught. He's no good to us dead. Come on. He's heading right for the pit we dug last night. Another few yards and he'll be trapped."

Ross Armstrong bounded down the other side of the hot rock and cut through the thick underbrush. Dallas lowered his rifle and followed his brother. Seconds later the two men heard the sound of sliding earth and falling timbers. Dashing to the deep pit dug in the center of the narrow trail the two reivers looked down at the unconscious Cherokee sprawled amid the fallen logs and Kentucky earth.

"Is he dead?" Dallas squatted at the edge of the pit and peered into the jumble.

Ross jumped down beside the tall Indian and leaned over, his rifle held as a club in case the man was only pretending. He carefully touched the Indian's brown throat. There was no response but the pulse was strong and steady.

"Naw, he's only knocked out. Quick, toss me the rope and we'll haul him out and bind him."

Together the two young men pulled Mingo's heavy body from the pit. Stained with earth and bruised from the falling logs, a swelling beginning to rise above the left eye, the Cherokee lay at their feet breathing regularly. Ross bound his captive's wrists and ankles, then sat down in the shade and waited for the Indian to return to consciousness.

Minutes later Mingo moaned and stirred. He opened his large dark eyes and stared at the Kentucky afternoon sky above him. Slowly he turned his head to look at the young men sitting beside the trail. A thin trickle of blood had dried beside his full lips. Carefully he swallowed and struggled to sit. The two young men watched him wordlessly.

Sitting in the hot August sun Mingo looked at the two men in the deep shade. They seemed to be brothers, their facial features very much alike. Slender but strong, they appeared to be in their twenties. Both were armed with rifles and long trader knives.

Raising his bound wrists, Mingo addressed the elder of the two. "I seem to be your prisoner. Will you tell me why?" The two brothers looked at each other, grins widening on their pale faces.

"That's gotta be him. Talks just like a laird, don't he?"

"King's English for sure. God save the mighty King George. Bloody prick!" The man spit in contempt, his light-skinned face screwed into an expression of intense hatred.

Though he was careful not to betray his disquiet, Mingo was alarmed at the vehemence displayed by the young man. Evidently these two men were rebels or worse. Bandits, robbers, murderers. The Trace and Wilderness Trail had drawn an ever-increasing number of predators as the Kentucky territory added more settlers.

The three men looked at each other in the midday heat. Then the elder brother rose. "Come on, Cherokee. Daddy's waiting to make your acquaintance. He's been looking forward to the meeting for days. There's no cause to make him wait any longer."

Ross and Dallas each took an arm and between them they pulled Mingo to his feet. Less than an hour later they left the trail and passed beneath a pair of sentry rocks and into a natural stone amphitheater. A collection of small stone houses were scattered around the wide bowl. Mingo quickly counted eleven as he walked between the two brothers. He noticed several women stirring simmering cooking pots. To the side was a large open-sided building that appeared to be sheltering a collection of spoils. Mingo could make out a stack of blankets, a large trunk, barrels of flour and other staples, and several rifles and kegs of powder. Three horses were hobbled nearby. A herd of milk cows and calves numbering between fifteen and twenty grazed the opposite side of the bowl. A small herd of sheep stared at him, huddled together before the steely eye of a black and white border collie. Chickens pecked and squawked underfoot.

The entire population stared as the three men walked across the open bowl to stand before a rock cairn. A blanket was folded on the top of the rocks as a kind of honor seat. Mingo glanced to his right and saw approaching a strongly built man of middle age. His hair was the color of the rocks and his eyes the color of the cold northern seas. He moved with an aura of power.

The man seated himself on the blanket facing Mingo and his two captors. The cold blue eyes stared into the Cherokee's face for several seconds. His gaze traveled carefully down Mingo's tall, slender frame. Then he nodded and turned his eyes to the man at Mingo's right.

"Well done, lad. That's him alright. Murray's whelp. Though I've never see him, I remember him being described to me many a time. A bit bruised but whole. I'm proud o' ye, lad."

The young man at Mingo's side colored with pleasure. "He weren't no trouble Daddy. The fall knocked him out and he came along right peaceful."

The cold blue eyes returned to Mingo's. "Very smart, Cherokee. I'd expect you to be as cold and calculating as your daddy." The older man spit in derision. "Now to ease your mind some, I'll tell you what we want o' ye.

Your daddy's safely back in England where he's busy grabbing as much as he can get his lily-white hands on. So he's out o' our grasp, so to speak. But his friends on this side o' the water aren't. They're busy grabbing here. It's them that we battle. We take whatever we can whenever we can. Your friend Mr. Daniel Boone is grabbing too. And now we'll be taking from him and them that's backing him."

The gray-haired man stopped and searched the Cherokee's eyes for any challenge. Finding none, the leader continued. "You're going to help me and mine. We know you're scouting for Mr. Boone. We know he's behind you with a group o' settlers for his town in the territory. We want a tribute paid for his safe passage. You're going to take that message to him."

Mingo swallowed and cleared his throat. "What if I refuse to take any part in this robbery?"

The older man colored brightly and leaped off the rocks. He stabbed his finger into Mingo's chest as he punctuated his words. "It is not robbery! It is tribute, a payment that we are owed from those who stole our homes."

"Daniel took no one's home. Neither did those who follow him to make a better life for themselves."

"Look around you, Indian. That's what me and mine are doing. Making a better life for ourselves. Men like your daddy stole our lands one piece at a time, with legal papers and with bribery and outright murder. Them with property 'n power used us for their own purposes and then cast us aside like so much offal.

For four hundred years Clan Armstrong and Clan Elliott guarded the Middle March while Clan Johnstone guarded the West. We were good enough for that until James I decided to drive us out. Himself, his ministers, and his advisors like you Murrays." Craig Armstrong again sent a stream of spittal beside the rock cairn. "Sent us to fight the Irish, to die in the Low Countries, to be used against the savages here. Sacrificed us during the French war, posted us in the front lines to be used as canon fodder. Enough! We will endure no more! Now we fight for ourselves."

The man's sea blue eyes sparkled like sunlight on the ocean. All the centuries of tenuous existence built into the present and Clan Armstrong was fighting for its own. Here in the mountains of a new continent they lived as they had for generations, fighting and robbing, reivers of the borders. Mingo nodded his head in understanding. He remembered his courses in English history well.

"I ask tonight to think about my position. You are correct that Daniel is behind me. One day will make no difference." Mingo's eyes looked boldly into the blue eyes of the border Scot. The two men measured each other for seconds. Then the Scot slowly nodded.

"Untie him, Ross."

"Daddy! He'll run back to Boone."

"No he won't. He'll give his word, won't you Cherokee?"

Again Mingo searched the older man's eyes. He nodded. "I give you my word that I won't try to escape. You can trust me." Mingo stretched out his right hand to the Scot. Craig Armstrong accepted the gesture and shook Mingo's strong hand. Beside him Ross sighed but did as instructed and freed Mingo's hands. He bent and untied the hobble around Mingo's ankles. Craig waved his sons aside and the three reivers split and went about their usual business, leaving Mingo standing alone before the seat of decision.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Mingo walked freely around the settlement. He carefully counted the inhabitants. There were nineteen men, thirteen women, and seventeen children ranging in age from infants to mid-teens. He could see three men standing atop the pinnacle rocks acting as sentries. Fifty-two people, descendants of refugees from the borderlands of Scotland and England. Fifty-two people who scrambled over the mountains of Carolina to scratch out a place of their own and live unimpeded as they chose.

As the summer evening deepened toward night Mingo saw a young woman approaching him as he sat watching three children fold the sheep. She was obviously the sister of Ross and Dallas Armstrong. She walked boldly, her stride long and purposeful. Her jaw was set and her blue eyes were filled with pride. Her light brown hair was tied severely behind her head.

"You are to come and bide with us tonight." Her voice was forceful and brooked no argument. She turned and led the way to the stone house nearest the entrance to the bowl. Mingo rose and walked silently behind her. She passed through the narrow door and walked to the hearth. Mingo ducked under the lintel and stood inside the small area.

As his eyes adjusted to the dim light he could see various cooking pots, two beds, a table, two chairs, a spinning wheel, and a small loom. The woman was bent over the hearth lifting an iron teapot off its hook. The bubbling water hissed as she poured the liquid into a painted teapot.

Craig Armstrong entered the house behind Mingo and strode to the table. He beckoned his guest and Mingo sat opposite him. Silently the woman heaped two china plates with a mutton stew flavored by wild mint. Mingo ate two helpings and finished the meal by using slices of thick rye bread to absorb the delicious broth. Just as he was about to excuse himself she set a wheat-bread pudding before him, the jug of cream at his elbow. Politely he finished the pudding, then slowly stood and thanked her. She silently nodded her acceptance and Mingo stepped back outside with an uncomfortably full stomach.

He stood leaning against the stone house looking at the stars for nearly an hour as the heavy meal worked its way through his stomach. The starchy offering made him sleepy but the unusual abundance made it impossible to lie down and sleep. He walked slowly around the settlement, searching for a source of water. Finding none, he returned to the Armstrong house and entered.

The woman was sitting at the loom, the shuttle rocketing back and forth as she wove. She looked up as he entered.

"Excuse me, but I'm thirsty and seeking a source of water. I don't want to break my word and leave the settlement. May I please have a drink?"

Silently she rose and extended a jug to him. Hesitantly Mingo lifted the jug to his nose. An unmistakable odor of whisky emanated from the jug. Taking a deep breath Mingo drank and swallowed. The fiery liquid singed his throat and exploded warmly in his stomach. Mingo nodded as the tears stung his eyes.

"Thank you," he choked. He looked at the woman before him, her eyes proud and daring.

"What is your name? I know your brothers and father, but not you."

She continued to look at him for several more seconds, then responded with one word. "Neala."

"Neala? What an unusual name. I don't think I've ever heard that before."

She made no reply but returned to her loom. Craig Armstrong lay sleeping on one of the beds. Without looking at him her voice rose over the clacking of the shuttle. "That bed yonder is yours."

"Oh no, miss. I'll sleep outside. I'm quite used to it. I'd not rob you of your bed."

Mingo's choice of words brought a flash of anger from Neala Armstrong. "You'd not be robbing what I'm offering!"

"Of course not. I meant no disrespect. But I am far more comfortable outside than inside, I assure you. That's all."

"Suit yourself, Indian. But Daddy and the others took your word." She turned to look at him, her face betraying her distrust. "If you try and escape, they will shoot you. I promise you. There are sentries placed all around this settlement."

"I gave my word, Miss Armstrong. I honor my bond."

Mingo's eyes held Neala Armstrong's for several seconds. Then he turned and walked a dozen yards beyond the Armstrong door. There he spread his blanket on the summer grass, and with the summer stars twinkling above him fell into a blissful sleep.

Shortly after midnight all Mingo's senses suddenly alerted him and he rolled to the right seconds before a long knife blade stabbed where his chest had been only a heartbeat before. Leaping to his feet, Mingo kicked the assailant low in the stomach and the man toppled backwards. Mingo flung himself on his attacker and used all his weight to press the knife hand to the ground. The border collie ran growling to worry the two struggling men. Craig Armstrong rushed to Mingo's side, his rifle pointed at the man still attempting to stab the Cherokee.

"Get up!" Craig's voice was loud and harsh with authority. The other reiver staggered to his feet, panting. "Galen Elliott, you have dishonored yourself. You have dishonored me. Before I pronounce punishment upon you, tell me why you attacked a man brought here under my protection!"

Before Mingo stood a thin young man, his head bowed in shame. One word passed his trembling lips. "Ceara." From behind the young man a small woman slipped her arms around his body. Craig Armstrong stood looking at them for several seconds. No one spoke. Then Craig raised his right arm and pronounced his sentence.

"Galen Elliott, Alanna Elliott. Take your family and leave us. Go east, go west, it is no matter. Do not ever come here again. You are banished from this company. Your names will never again be spoken. Your disgrace will never be mentioned. You do not exist. Be gone before dawn." Lowering his arm, Craig turned and beckoned Mingo. "Come with me. I'll get a bandage."

"I am uninjured. The knife did not touch me."

"Come inside still. I wish you to understand." Craig walked over his threshold and beckoned the tall Cherokee after him. Neala stood with her shawl over her white gown, holding the iron tea kettle. Craig noticed his daughter standing before the fire and nodded. She bent and placed the kettle on its hook, then stirred the fire. She slipped into the nearest table chair and sat.

Craig gestured for Mingo to take the other chair. When he did the border Scot leaned against the fireplace and sighed heavily. "Galen and his wife Alanna lost their daughter Ceara when we came through the Gap. A small party of Indians attacked us. We drove them off but not before they grabbed the little fair-haired tyke. We followed them."

Mingo lowered his head and closed his eyes. He knew what would come next. The sorrow in Craig's voice confirmed his suspicion even before the words sank into his heart. "They killed her. They knocked her head against a tree. Horrible. Galen hates Indians now. I hope you can understand."

"I do. Craig, the frontier is a brutal place. Man is brutal."

"No need to tell me that Mingo. I've seen the borders run red when I was a lad."

A heavy silence fell as the two men fought bloody memories. Neala rose and brewed a pot of tea, serving it to the two silent men. Mingo finished his cup and rose to continue the night alone outside. Craig turned from the fireplace. "Mingo, my young ones were born on this continent. They don't know what it's like to see your own people used by those not fit to wipe their boots. I know you were born here too. I don't blame you for the actions of your daddy and them like him. I wanted you to know."

Mingo looked long into the blue eyes of Craig Armstrong. Then he turned without a word and entered the familiar protection of the Kentucky darkness.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The next evening Mingo trotted into the camp of Daniel Boone. The small party of new settlers was already bedded down for the night. Daniel sat awake acting as camp guard. Beckoning his friend to the fire, Daniel leaned over and handed Mingo a last cup of coffee.

"You were gone a mite longer than I expected. Have some trouble?"

"You could say that. I met a most interesting group of people. You're not going to like this, Daniel. There's a collection of Ulster Scots guarding the Gap, and they expect tribute from you in order to pass through."

"What? Tribute? You can't be serious."

"I'm deadly serious Daniel. They mean business. They feel wronged and they intend to make everyone they blame pay for it."

"They blame me? For what?"

"For dealing with avaricious, wealthy and titled people in regards to the settlement of Kentucky. They object to the way the land was parceled."

"Now Mingo you know those land grants are legal and have nothing to do with trickery."

"It's still connected to speculation Daniel. There's no denying that. Wealthy and powerful speculators."

"Like your daddy?" Daniel's implication hung heavy in the air.

Mingo's head snapped up and his angry eyes looked into Daniel's. "My father's actions are beyond my control. You know that! These Border Scots have been wronged for centuries by powerful men in two kingdoms. They are out of patience."

"Now the way I hear it they're a collection o' bandits, thieves and murderers."

"They are also one of the greatest armies ever collected in the Isles. They are tough, aggressive and touchy people. They feel greatest loyalty to clan connections, not governments or titles. They are not reasonable when it comes to perceived injury. Feuds last for centuries. I advise you to pay them and pass through the Gap with as little confrontation as possible."

"Let's say I agree with you. Now, what do I pay them with? I forgot to bring along the bags o' gold I keep stashed in my fireplace at home."

Mingo lowered his brows at Daniel's attempt at humor. "Daniel, this is serious."

Daniel leaned over and nudged Mingo's foot. "I know it. I was just tryin' to get you to lighten up. You're so serious you look like a woodcut in a Philadelphia paper."

Mingo sighed. "I spent a day and a night in their company Daniel. I like them. I don't agree with them but I do understand their viewpoint."

"We're back to my question. What do I use as tribute?"

"What do you have extra? Spare oxen? Chickens? Gunpowder? An extra wagon?"

Daniel sat silently for several minutes, inventorying his supplies. Finally he looked up. "We're carryin' extra dishes for Cincinnatus. Some tableware. Cloth. Some traps."

"I think the cloth, and maybe the tableware. Is it silver?"

"No, it's brass. Some silversmith in Williamsburg's been experimentin' with usin' brass for tableware. It sure is bright and shiny."

"I think the tableware would be acceptable. With the cloth."

"Alright. I'll move those items into the Nelson's wagon. Then we can have it handy up front when we meet up with these reivers in a day or two. Satisfied?"

Mingo frowned again. "Daniel, it is not me that's asking for this tribute. I am merely the messenger." He rose and strode wordlessly into the forest. Daniel sat glumly before the fire, wondering how he would explain to Cincinnatus so that the storekeeper wouldn't be out of sorts for weeks.

Another day of travel brought the company to the edge of the Gap. As the settlers bedded down for the night Mingo conversed with Daniel, then strode easily up the trail towards the reiver's stronghold. He arrived before midnight, arranged a meeting between Daniel and Craig Armstrong, then spent the night rolled in his blanket beside Craig's stone house.

Just after dawn the three Armstrong men and Mingo descended the trail towards the settlers' camp. The birdsong issued forth from the dense forest as the men walked in companionable silence. Two hours later Mingo raised his hand and Craig stopped beside him. Through the bars of sunlight and shade Mingo could see Daniel Boone striding up the trail before his caravan. Mingo turned to Craig Armstrong, his eyes bright with understanding.

"Wait. I'll bring Daniel to you."

Craig Armstrong nodded. His son Ross left the trail to search for an appropriate meeting place. He returned in seconds and beckoned his father. The elder Armstrong was quickly wedged in a crevice between two jutting limestone rocks. His heavy arms rested on the tops of the two boulders, his head was regally backlit by the morning sunlight slanting through the trees. Minutes later Daniel was presented to the reiver by his two sons and Mingo. The bold Scot and visionary Kentuckian measured each other in silence. After a respectful time Mingo stepped forward to begin the discussion.

"Craig Armstrong, may I present Daniel Boone of Kentucky? Daniel, this is Craig Armstrong, head of the Clan Armstrong in America, leader of the Kentucky band of reivers."

Daniel could feel Mingo's forceful pressure behind his right elbow. Bowing to his friend's guidance Daniel stepped forward with words of respectful greeting. "I'm pleased to meet you, Mr. Armstrong. Mingo tells me you expect payment for us to pass through the Gap?"

Craig Armstrong shook his head, his blue eyes never leaving the light green eyes before him. "I demand tribute, Mr. Boone, not payment. There is a difference."

"I myself helped blaze this trail years ago. I've traveled freely over the Gap two dozen times. Why should I pay to pass now?"

"Because it pleases me to demand tribute now. My lads guard the pass. You don't have to pay, Mr. Boone. You can turn and go around."

Daniel frowned and colored in anger. "You know full well that I can't turn wagons around in the middle of this forest."

"Failure to plan is no concern of mine, Mr. Boone. If you intend to pass through the Gap, you will pay me for the privilege."

The two stubborn men locked their gaze. Beside Daniel Mingo could feel his friend's anger building. Stepping forward, Mingo faced Craig Armstrong.

"May Daniel discuss this with the settlers and give you an answer soon?"

Silently Craig Armstrong nodded. Mingo took Daniel's arm and pulled. Tearing his eyes from the ocean blue before him, Daniel accompanied Mingo the hundred yards back to the wagons. Fuming, Daniel spoke to the tall man beside him. "Arrogant little bantam, isn't he? He acts like he owns the whole colony."

"He may as well since he's effectively bottled the pass."

Daniel turned to face the Cherokee. "Whose side are you on here? You need to help me figure a way around this. He'll repeat this kind of behavior with me every time I walk over the trail, every time Cincinnatus brings in a wagon of supplies! What about the folks in Harrodsburg? What about Ruddle's Station? I've got no intention of paying a 'tribute' every time I want to go to Salem! He's interferin' with a free man's right to settle where he chooses. He's interferin' with trade!"

Mingo's voice held a trace of humor as he replied. "You can go around. He's right about that."

Daniel spun on his heel and strode angrily to the Nelson's wagon. He pulled several bolts of calico from the wagon, then reached in and pulled out a small crate of brass tableware. Mingo softly approached his friend's rigid back. Thrusting the cloth into Mingo's arms, the frothing trailblazer lifted the wooden crate and brushed past his silent friend. Mingo followed sedately, his lips lifted in a small smile of amusement.

Daniel's tribute accepted, the three reivers began their return trip back to their settlement. Daniel motioned the Nelsons and the caravan resumed its travel over the trail. Two days later the entire company was traveling down the west side of the Cumberland Gap and turning toward Boonesborough. The August weather stayed clear and dry.

After the settlers were safely camped outside Boonesborough ten days later Daniel and Mingo sat sipping Cincinnatus' ale. The storekeeper had reddened in anger as Daniel explained his reduced stock of cloth and tableware. He was now engaged in writing angry letters to his suppliers in Salem, to the colonial law representatives in the capital, and to the Williamsburg newspaper. Sitting together the two friends reviewed the time spent on the trail. Eventually they turned to the problem of Craig Armstrong's reivers.

"You know, Mingo, Cincinnatus is right. I need to write to the officials in Williamsburg too, in my capacity as magistrate. Armstrong's reivers may seem romantic to you, but they're nothin' more than bandits to me."

Mingo sighed. He nodded his dark head as the words slipped softly from his lips. "Yes Daniel, they are that. But I can't help but feel a kind of admiration for them. They aren't riding out on raids or terrorizing anyone. They are simply taking tribute from those using the Gap."

"Stealin' from innocent people passin' through the Gap, Mingo."

Once again Mingo nodded in silence, then rose at Daniel's side. "I think I'll start back to Chota. Give my best to your family, Daniel."

Daniel reached out and took Mingo's arm. "Whoa, now. You know full well if I go home and tell Becky and the younguns that you aren't comin' to dinner they'll drive me out into the night, hungry and cold!"

Mingo smiled. "Alright then, Daniel. But I will be leaving in the morning."

"Good enough. Let's go. I'm beginnin' to feel a mite hungry. And after all the trail cookin' whatever Becky's fixin' will seem like a feast!" Together the two friends walked through the door and into the busy Boonesborough stockade, then on to Daniel's cabin.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

The early autumn day was whispering of fall. Mingo trotted easily down the trail carrying the messages from Daniel to the officials in Salem and Williamsburg. Also in his pack were letters from the Boonesborough settlers to friends and relatives back east. Daniel had slipped on a muddy patch near his own front door and badly wrenched his back. Becky rubbed the sore muscles with liniment several times each day and would not hear of Dan making the trip himself. Though Mingo teased the big man, he willingly accepted the role of postman and enjoyed each day alone in the vast wilderness.

Secretly he looked forward to visiting the Clan Armstrong settlement again. Craig Armstrong and his band of followers interested Mingo and he'd written a letter to one of his former Oxford instructors of Medieval History asking for a book about the border reivers. The blue September sky was cloudless and the strong sunshine warmed the air pleasantly.

Nearing the Gap from the west, Mingo's dark eyes searched the horizon for a sign of the sentries. Suddenly he heard a rifle shot. He instantly crouched and crept like a shadow through the trees that lined the trail. Other shots rang out, shattering the September stillness. He could hear shouting, though he couldn't make out the words or the language. Hidden behind the thick tree trunks Mingo saw three buckskinned men run down the trail to the west. Close behind ran two others, obviously chasing the three. Two rifle shots rang out, then two more widely spaced. Silence settled once again upon the Kentucky forest.

Cautiously Mingo crept to a position along his backtrail. Sprawled among the trees lay two bodies. Slowly Mingo approached and knelt to check for life signs. Both men were dead. Glancing up, Mingo could see two more bodies lying nearby. He walked to them and found them lifeless. One was familiar and Mingo gritted his teeth as he turned the slender body. It was Dallas Armstrong. The pale face was slack in death, the sea blue eyes closed. Mingo whirled with his rifle ready as a gasping sound nearby startled him.

On the ground a dozen feet away sat Ross Armstrong. Tears streamed down his face and his eyes looked blankly into Mingo's own. Mingo stepped to the young man's side and touched his shoulder.

"I will help you take Dallas home. Ross, rise and come with me."

Ross Armstrong shuddered and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. Mingo bent and lifted the slight body of Dallas Armstrong. Together the two men walked in silence toward the Gap. After an hour's walk the sentry waved the two men through.

As Mingo entered the rocky bowl a high keening wail greeted his ears. A woman rushed at him, her voice echoing against the sheltering rocks. She grasped Dallas' cold hand and continued to wail. Beside her another woman joined in the eerie lament. Across the open space Craig Armstrong walked woodenly, his blue eyes clouded with grief. He took the body of his son from Mingo's arms, turned and carried him into one of the little stone houses.

Ross Armstrong walked behind his father, his own wife beside him lending her voice to the lament. All around him Mingo could hear the women keening in grief. In silence men began to gather rocks and soon a sizeable cairn was gathered behind Dallas' stone house. Then the entire community stood in and around the stone house of Dallas Armstrong, swaying and wailing in grief. The sound reminded Mingo of winter wind moaning through the dead forest. It set his nerves on edge. He endured it as long as he could, then withdrew to the shelter of the surrounding forest. He spent the night burying the three unknown travelers who had challenged the Armstrong brothers.

Just as the first rays of light lit the rocky bowl Dallas Armstrong was laid to rest. His cairn was carefully constructed. Glenna Armstrong lay down upon the cairn and continued to wail, her sister and mother keeping watch by her side. Ross sat nearby, cold and silent, his face set in grief. Coming out of the forest Mingo looked around for Craig Armstrong, his concern growing when he could not see the older man.

Neala Armstrong sat beside Glenna's sister Edana. Mingo quietly and respectfully approached and touched her shoulder. She raised reddened eyes to his face, then followed his silent gesture. Several yards from Dallas' cairn Mingo turned to Neala.

"I am very sorry about your brother's death. Where is your father, Neala?"

Neala swallowed and pointed to the dense forest. Mingo nodded and pressed her hand in comfort. Then he quietly entered the brightening forest. After nearly fifteen minutes he found Craig Armstrong seated alone on a pile of boulders.

"Craig?"

The older man's head swiveled to look into Mingo's shadowed face. "Mingo? What are you doing here?"

"I was on the trail through the Gap when I heard shots. I carried Dallas home."

Craig frowned, then nodded. "Now I remember. Yes, you came bearing my son home. I'm grateful to you."

Mingo sat beside the grieving man, giving mute support to the wounded father. As the sun passed its zenith the Scot turned to the Cherokee at his side.

"I've been wrong, Mingo. I've been seeking payment for a debt that cannot ever be paid. I see that now. It took my boy's blood to open my eyes. Blood to cancel blood. What a fool I've been! Neala tried to tell me months ago, but I wouldn't listen. Woman's words, I said. A woman's heart is soft, I said. Now I see a woman's heart is perhaps much wiser than a man's. Mingo, I can't forgive and I can't forget. It is me that should be lying under the rocks on the crest of the mountain, not my boy."

The strong shoulders began to shake as sobs racked the father's body. Mingo sat nearby, lending support by his presence. His mind puzzled over the long reach of time. Four hundred years, Craig had told him. Four hundred years of exploitation, four hundred years of contempt. As he had many, many times during his life Mingo rejoiced that he had rejected the role that his blood reserved for him, rejected the class distinctions that would have made him as guilty as his father.

The evening bird calls prompted Mingo to rise and pull Craig to his feet. Mingo supported the other man as his footsteps staggered toward his house. Neala ran to her father's side and helped Mingo lay him on his bed. The elder Scot turned his face to the wall as his daughter covered him warmly with a soft woolen blanket.

"Thank you," she said softly. "I have a leg of lamb prepared. Sit and eat."

Mingo accepted her hospitality, then rolled into his blanket beside the Armstrong house. It was late in the night before he fell asleep. The new cairn glittered white in the springtime moonlight. Glenna still lay on the pile of rocks, and beside it sat Ross Armstrong keeping vigil over his brother's mortal remains.

The next day Mingo continued on his journey into Salem. Craig Armstrong waved goodbye from his front door. Beside him Neala gazed worriedly at her father. Mingo returned the farewell and strode through the rocky gateway and onto the trail. He delivered all of Boonesborough's messages and immediately began his return trip. He had no desire to remain in the company of the Salem citizens alone.

Several days later as Mingo walked west near the sentry station a strong emotional pull drew him aside. Apprehensively he trotted to the opening of the settlement. No sentries greeted him and his disquiet grew. As he entered the grassy bowl he saw no one. The cattle grazed nearby, the sheep were carefully guarded by the faithful border collie. As he stood puzzled in the open area he became aware of a high-pitched skirling drifting on the light breeze. His heart in his throat, the Cherokee followed the sound.

In the small clearing near the boulders where he'd sat only two weeks before a large cairn was visible. The entire settlement stood around the rocky pile, the women keening softly as a piper played. The wailing lament of the pipes echoed through the silent forest. Mingo searched the assembly but found no sign of Craig Armstrong. Walking soundlessly through the moist leaf litter he went to stand beside Neala and Ross Armstrong. Neala turned to him, her eyes swollen and reddened by many tears. Her voice broke as she spoke to Mingo at her side.

"He didn't want us to lay him beside Dallas or the others. He said he didn't deserve to lie near those who'd believed in him. He told us the day you left."

"He didn't want to live, Neala. He told me that he should be the one lying under the rocks, not Dallas. I'm sorry." Mingo put his strong arm around the grieving woman's shoulders. She mutely nodded and leaned her head on his chest. On his other side Ross and his wife Brenna stood mourning. The community stayed for several hours in shared grief, then as evening softened the early autumn light the families left to prepare for their darkness.

Mingo walked with Neala into the stone house near the edge of the clearing. In complete silence she dipped beef stew for her guest, then sat with her back to the room as she gazed into the fire.

Mingo ate silently, his mind occupied with memories of Craig Armstrong. When he rose to go to his rest Neala rose with him. She walked to the small trunk at the foot of her father's bed, opened it, and reached inside. Just as Mingo stepped over the threshold she called him back.

"Mingo, my daddy wanted you to have this. He told me the day that you left. That's the last words that he spoke to anyone. He refused to eat. He just wasted away. It was his choice."

Mingo nodded in understanding. He opened his hand as Neala reached out her own. A heavy metal object fell into his open palm. In the yellow firelight Mingo recognized a badge. He looked long into Neala's swimming eyes, then nodded.

"Thank you, Neala. I will always treasure this, as I treasure the memory of your father, your brothers, and you."

The young Scotswoman turned silently and once again sat with her back to the room. Mingo strode softly through the door. By the bright moonlight he carefully studied the clan badge in his hand. It was a raised right arm, the Latin words "Invictus Maneo" inscribed in the surrounding circlet. Neala's voice began to rise on the night air as her keening released the anguish building in her heart. Mingo tightly closed his eyes against his own pain. In his hand he clutched the badge and thought of Craig Armstrong and all who fought against oppression. "Invictus Maneo—I am unvanquished."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Two seasons passed and Mingo was once again at the opening to the natural limestone bowl. The sentry waved him through and he entered the enclosure quietly. Familiar scenes met his eyes; cattle grazing, sheep guarded by the black and white dog, women cooking, children playing. To his right Neala Armstrong walked through her open door to greet him. Accepting her hug of welcome, Mingo returned the pressure and gently pulled free.

"Neala, I have something to show you. May I come in?"

Silently she gestured for Mingo to enter her house. He set his pack upon the table and drew forth a rectangular piece of hardwood. Illuminated by the spring sunlight the letters carved on its smooth surface were clearly visible. Neala walked close to Mingo's side and leaned over to read the words.

Here lies Craig Armstrong

If bitterness is the drink of man

Full the cup was his

Neala raised tear-filled eyes to Mingo's solemn face. "For Daddy?" she whispered. Mingo nodded and set the plaque on the table. "He deserves a marker, Neala. All winter I thought of him, and you, and your people. I wanted his memory to be honored and remembered."

Neala nodded and fingered the smooth wooden surface. Mingo reached for the plaque and turned to the door. Behind him he heard Neala's soft voice. "He would have liked it that you honor him. Maybe he was wrong, but he was honestly wrong. That is something to be honored. He died with that honor intact."

Mingo nodded without turning and walked to Craig Armstrong's cairn. He carefully laid the carved wooden plaque among the stones covering the body. He had carved the words deeply and he knew that as the wood weathered the words would remain visible. They proclaimed their message clearly in the fading sunlight.

His tribute paid, the tall Cherokee walked back to the settlement and took the evening meal with Neala. They talked for hours about the future of the community and the opportunity offered by Boonesborough and other frontier settlements. Mingo told the proud woman of the Clan Macintosh and their successes.

As the moon rose high in the sky Neala ended the conversation. "I will think on it Mingo, I promise you. I will speak to Ross and all the others. It may be that some of us will go back to Carolina, and some of us will remain here. Possibly some may go on west to Boonesborough. It is for each to decide."

Mingo agreed and walked through the narrow door to his blanket beside the stone house. Before the dawn pinked the sky he was gone, back to his own family. He spent the summer in Chota. Finally, as the autumn deepened toward winter Mingo made his yearly trip to the Boone cabin.

Over his shoulders he carried a rolled albino deer hide. The light hair brought exclamations of delight from Jemima and Israel as he draped it over the settee. Rebecca left her hearth long enough to admire the beautiful hair, soft and thick. Daniel arrived with his own offering of rabbits and was instantly pulled to see the pale deer hide.

As the setting sun illuminated the interior of his cabin Daniel noticed an unusual silver circlet dropped from Mingo's beaded necklace. The sun's rays set the fine silver to glinting brightly. Daniel pointed to the ornament and Mingo answered his mute question.

"It is a clan badge, given to me by the Armstrongs."

Daniel's eyebrows shot straight up. "The Armstrongs? That band of reivers robbin' travelers through the Gap? I'd never have believed you'd willingly take anything from them. I just can't see you defendin' robbers."

"Daniel, I may disagree with their actions but I can't fault their reasoning. I don't have to agree with it to understand it. I could not refuse this badge. It was left to me by Craig Armstrong himself. He's dead Daniel. The clans are splitting, some going back to the Carolinas, some remaining near the Gap to raise their families, and some may come here. I told them of the Macintoshes and a few may settle near their orchards. The lowlanders are tough, hardy people Daniel. They will make good settlers."

"I'd much rather have 'em here than bottlin' up the Gap. Sounds like you had a hand in convincing them to give up their unlawful ways."

"All I did was give them opportunities Daniel. I think they deserve to be treated with the respect they've earned."

"So do I my friend." Daniel's voice was soft as he watched the light play upon the planes of his friend's pensive face.

After the dinner of rabbit stew Israel sat beside Mingo on the tall settee and examined the clan badge in the center of his friend's new necklace. Jemima sat on his other side admiring the silver pin from a distance.

"Who'd you say gave this to you? Some man named Armstrong? Is that why there's an arm on this pin?" Israel was brimming with questions as usual. Mingo smiled and answered them one at a time.

Daniel spoke from his chair beside the fire. "You know, Mingo, if you were goin' to start wearin' a clan badge, what about the Murrays? That's your family."

Mingo's dark eyes flashed in the firelight. "Daniel, the Murrays are a large, brilliant family. But in my opinion their honor is rather tarnished. I would never wear anything that denoted my connection to that clan. I think you know that." Mingo's face was tight with concealed anger.

Daniel lowered his eyes in embarrassment. His attempt at a joke had backfired and now Mingo sat angrily at his fireside. In the uncomfortable silence the Kentuckian searched his mind for words to mend the breach. Instead his son found them inscribed on the silver badge at Mingo's throat.

"What's these words say? I can't read 'em." Israel's high-pitched voice broke into the reflections. As usual he was completely self-involved. "Are they Scots words?"

"No Israel, they are Latin. 'Invictus Maneo' means 'I am unvanquished.'"

"What's un-van-squished?" Israel's nose wrinkled as he struggled with the unfamiliar word.

Jemima giggled and corrected her brother. " 'Van-_quished_', Israel. It means conquered. Unvanquished would mean unconquered. You know, not ever beaten."

"Actually, Jemima, it would be more correct to say that one never submitted."

A smile began to grow on Mingo's wide lips. His eyes rose to meet those before him. Rebecca's blue Gaelic eyes sparkled with understanding. Daniel's light eyes were turned inward as he thought about Mingo's definition as it applied to the stubborn border Scots. Silence settled over the little Kentucky cabin. Far away near the Cumberland Gap the early winter silence also settled over the border reivers. In the weak moonlight Mingo's words seemed to glow atop the silvery cairn. Beneath the stones rested Craig Armstrong with his broken cup of bitterness, and his honor.


End file.
